Sentiment
by feelsinthetardis
Summary: Lestrade and Sherlock are chasing a thug and they split up to find him. Sherlock finds Lestrade again and sees something he never wants to again. Based on a Sherlock RP on omegle with powerofvoodoo.
1. Chapter 1

Lestrade was lying on the floor, groaning from the pain emitting out of the bullet wound in his abdomen. He had been chasing a thug when he had taken out a gun and pulled the trigger. He could see the shooter running away from him, but as he attempted to reach for his gun, which lay a few feet away from him, his wounds prevented him from doing so. He was using all his strength to stay awake, praying that someone would find him.

Sherlock ran in and stopped dead in his tracks seeing Lestrade lying on the floor. He dropped to his knees and almost shook him before realising that that would probably not be a very good idea.

"Lestrade! LESTRADE!" Lestrade could only whisper Sherlock's name. Sherlock got out his phone and screamed at them for an ambulance

"Lestrade, stop being annoying. Dying is annoying. Stop it. Stop it now." Lestrade laughed but suddenly winced at the pain it caused in his abdomen.

"H-He...got...away..." Lestrade managed to say. His mind felt fuzzy, and his vision slightly blurry from the blood loss. He didn't think he'd been so happy to see Sherlock in his entire life.

"That doesn't matter!" Sherlock spat out. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered at all if Lestrade shut his eyes.  
"KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN" He bellowed in Lestrade's face. If Lestrade died- No. No. He won't die. It's just a bullet. Ordinary people die of gun shot wounds. Not this man. Not Lestrade. No. Not this brilliant man who could do so much with the little intelligence he had. Sherlock let his mind drift to escape the pain. He remembered when he first turned up at crime scenes and Lestrade was amazed at what he could deduce. He remembered Lestrade feeling less and less amazed every time. He remember Lestrade cleaning Sherlock's flat to get him to quit cocaine. He remembered everything. Everything Lestrade had been there for. Every time Sherlock had turned to him for social advice. Even that one time, when Lestrade helped him discover that his feelings for John were more than just friendly ones. He was soon jolted out of his memories by the sound of an approaching ambulance siren.

Lestrade was trying to keep his eyes open, but he could feel his strength leaving him. He looked into Sherlock's face, and he looked genuinely worried. Perhaps Sherlock wasn't so tough on the inside. He felt some blood drip down the side of his head from a cut on his temple, where he had fallen. He then heard sirens, and heaved a small sigh of relief. He could also see police cars pull up by the side of the ambulance. It was weird, because usually he was _in_ the police cars, not lying in a pool of his own blood on the ground.

The paramedics came in with a stretcher and started to lift Lestrade on it. The sudden movement sent pain shooting through his abdomen and he cried out loud. Sherlock started shouting at the paramedics until Lestrade whispered his name. Sherlock immediately shut up and turned to Lestrade. He followed them into the ambulance and stood next to Lestrade's stretcher as they rushed him to St Barts. Luckily, the abandoned house was only a few blocks away from the hospital. Lestrade looked into Sherlock's eyes and once again whispered his name, but much quieter than before. Then his eyes slid shut and he went into cardiac arrest. Sherlock screamed out his name over and over again and the paramedics immediately got to work. As he watched, Sherlock finally let the tears spill.


	2. Chapter 2

The paramedics had ripped off Lestrade's shirt and began the procedure of CPR. They did it 3 times, and were beginning to lose hope until he finally regained consciousness and was breathing again. He was given an oxygen mask, and Sherlock sat next to him in the ambulance, tears falling down his cheeks. He hadn't really realised, but Greg Lestrade was one of his closest friends. One of few, so to lose him would be terrible. The ambulance arrived at St Bart's and he was rushed inside, Sherlock jogging behind the stretcher as it was rushed through the corridors.

The stretcher was pushed into an operating room and Sherlock tried to follow, only to be stopped by a nurse. Sherlock was so distraught he didn't even say anything. He got out his mobile and called the person he wanted to talk about this to the most. John. John picked up in the middle of the first ring.  
"Sherlock, where are you? I've been trying to call you for ages! What have you been doing and why are there more fingers in the fridge? I told you, it's not-" He abruptly stopped ranting, when he heard Sherlock cry loudly.  
"Sherlock? What is it? ...Sherlock? Sherlock!"  
"Lestrade."  
"What about him? What happened?" John started walking around the flat, looking for his keys.  
"He and I were following this...this... 'thug' and we split up and I went back later and I heard a- I heard a- Oh God." Sherlock choked on the word. He couldn't say it. Saying it would make it real. It couldn't be real.  
"...Sherlock?" John said quietly. It scared him to hear Sherlock sound so scared and hurt and...human.  
"I- I heard a...gunshot." John stopped dead.  
"Oh God. No."  
"Lestrade was...shot. He got shot."  
"Is he..." John couldn't finish the sentence. Lestrade was his friend. They went to the pub together and had a pint every other weekend. Well, Lestrade had a pint. John comforted him about his wife and Lestrade listened when John discovered that his feelings for Sherlock were more than just friendly ones. Lestrade couldn't be. No. John started running downstairs.  
"St Barts." Sherlock managed to say before breaking down completely.  
"On my way." John hailed for a cab.

John asked the taxi driver to drive as fast as he could without breaking the law. His hands were shaking as he opened the door and rushed inside the hospital when they arrived. Meanwhile, Lestrade had been put under heavy drugs, and was now unconscious as the operation was being done. The doctors had told Sherlock that he should pull through, but theres always that small chance that he wouldn't. Sherlock was sat in the waiting room, head in his hands.

Sherlock's head was full, so damn full! His mind insisted on thinking of every possible outcome to Lestrade's position. Everything that could happen. Every single way that Lestrade could possibly die. This was one of those rare times when he wished his head wasn't so stupidly full. He just wanted to think that there was every chance that Lestrade would be fine, perfect, with no complications. He gave up trying to control himself and cried out of pain, anguish, worry and relief. Relief that for now, Lestrade was alive. Relief that he had got there in time. Relief that he hadn't wait an extra minute or two before turning back and trying to find him. Sherlock heard John approach him, and he didn't know what he wanted to hear. He didn't know if he wanted to hear anything at all. John sat down next to him and wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him close. Sherlock sobbed into John's chest, unable to stop. He would feel bad about it later, embarrassed for acting so..._human,_ but right now he only cared about Lestrade. So he clinged to John and tried to think of all the ways that Lestrade could, no, _would_ be okay.

John held Sherlock close and stroked the back of his head. "Sherlock, He'll be alright, Its Lestrade. He's a strong man." He absolutely hated seeing Sherlock like this. He just looked so vulnerable and out of control. He was praying to god that Greg would be alright, that he would pull through. He would stay in the hospital all night if he had to.


	3. Chapter 3

They stayed there all night, neither able to sleep. Sherlock checked his watch every hour and at 8 am some doctors went into Lestrade's room to do some check ups. When they came out, they said that Lestrade was allowed visitors now, as he was in a stable condition. Sherlock rushed past them and sat next to Lestrade's bed. He stayed like that for hours. At one point John went to go get coffee, and as soon as he left Sherlock let his facade drop. He stopped pretending that he was in control of his emotions. He stopped pretending that he was okay. He put his head in his hands and spoke to Lestrade.  
"God, Lestrade. Don't you ever do that again. I can't handle it. It's been a day and I can't handle it. You better wake up, because if you don't, I will go absolutely insane. I just can't deal with this, Lestrade. I can't." Sherlock was so overcome with emotion that he hadn't even notice John walk in to grab his wallet.

John was about to leave the room again but stopped and looked back at Sherlock, feeling his heart sink. He really was distressed, but he decided to leave him be to his own thoughts, as that was generally what helped Sherlock cope best. He left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Lestrade then awoke, slowly but surely. He opened his eyes to find himself lying in a white hospital bed. He looked to his right to see Sherlock sat there with his head in his hands, breathing heavily. He attemped to sit upright, but didn't in the end as he could feel that his wounds were still tender.

Sherlock jerked his head up at the tiny noise and stood over Lestrade's bed.  
"Hello there." Lestrade smirked at Sherlock. Sherlock stared at him for a minute and then sank back into his chair. He didn't know what to say. Lestrade looked at him and tried to make him laugh by saying  
"Problem?"  
Sherlock had to restrain himself from shouting at Lestrade.  
"Yes, I have a problem." He said quietly "You almost died, Lestrade. You almost left me alone." Lestrade tried to cut in  
"You would've had John."  
"YES, BUT I WOULDN'T HAVE HAD YOU!" Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Lestrade, it is hard for me to say this. You know I am not good with...sentiment, but I care for you. I care about your wellbeing. I would miss you if you were gone. You are a...friend to me."

Lestrade furrowed his brow when he heard Sherlock say this. "You're my friend, too, Sherlock." He smiled. "And...thanks, for, you know, saving my life, and all..."Sherlock nodded, slightly embarrassed. Lestrade winced a little  
"Well, I'm going back to sleep. Getting shot does take a bit of a toll on you." Sherlock was startled when he heard John say  
"It does, doesn't it?" Lestrade smiled and drifted off to sleep. Sherlock looked at John and he pulled him into a hug.  
"What was that for?" John laughed. Sherlock just pulled him tighter.  
"Don't you do something like this either. Don't you dare. I will never forgive you." John held Sherlock at arm's length and looked into his eyes.  
"I won't." Sherlock nodded, then slowly leaned into John.


End file.
